An Infusion of New Blood
by FoxMarie
Summary: Alternate universe story. A new doctor is assigned to the department to stir things up. Her arrival comes just as a new case threatens the life of a young boy. New Chapter Up!
1. Prologue

"An Infusion of New Blood"

Prologue

She sat waiting in the office, legs crossed, head bopping to the hard rock beat of the latest alt band blasting from her I-Pod. She knew she was sitting on his desk, and she knew that they'd all be able to see her through the glass partitions even before they got to the office. She still kept her eyes closed, listening to the music, waiting. Waiting to meet the boss and the competition. She knew she wouldn't be making the best first impression possible. She wasn't even wearing her white labcoat, had it slung over a nearby chair. She didn't care about making a good impression. She wanted to make a lasting impression.

They were coming down the hall, the three that remained after Dr. Chase met his name's fate and was run out of the hospital, humiliated and verbally savaged by his colleagues, who he'd betrayed to Volger. Now they were the Three Amigos, the Three Musketeers, sorta. She saw them pause outside the door, peering at her through the vertical blinds. She didn't look at them, didn't let them know that she knew that they knew she was there. She uncrossed, recrossed her legs and stretched, arching her back to display her prominent breasts, made more so by the low cut, tight black tank top she choose to wear with her khakis. A silver chain glowed against her skin. Two of the three were men after all. Lasting impression, not good impression.

The door opened, and he was the first one through. Craggly face that was constantly adorned with neglected stubble, probably to make him look more rugged than he was. Or more careless. Or more helpless. Perhaps all, or perhaps he just thought it was a good way of rebelling. He was limping, his cane a symbol of his mood, of the mask he wanted the world to see. He wanted the world to both pity him and fear him, and the cane said both: I'm a cripple, but I'll cripple you if you say so. She could see through it, the whole package. It didn't fool her. It was like looking in a mirror. Dr. Gregory House. Just one big porcupine he is, she thought, continuing to pointedly ignore his presence while bobbing her head to the beat.

She felt his eyes, those haunted blue orbs, narrowing at her as he was followed by the other two. The one was Dr. Eric Foreman, a tough, often grouchy guy. A neurologist by training, he now often found himself House's whipping boy. And he took it well, even being sensitive at times. Hell, he was probably more like House than he wanted to admit to himself. Or so she'd heard. Volger filled her in on his observations of all of them before she took Chase's spot - without telling House to expect a replacement. Volger wanted to stir things up, catch House off guard, experiment. She didn't care what Volger's plans were. This was a good opportunity, and she would've been stupid to pass it up. Not just because she was interested and trained in various medical specialties, but she always loved psychology. And analyzing this bunch would be a tasty treat for her own psyche.

The last one to come in was Dr. Allison Cameron, the immunologist and, as Volger indicated, the one House cared the most about. She looked at the female competition, and could see why House might've found her intriguing. Cameron was conservatively dressed, knee-length skirt, blouse, lab coat, hair pulled back in some kinda intricate pony tail thing. But her eyes narrowed to the same range as House's, cut from the same cloth they probably were. She clutched a chart to her breast, her eyes appraising the competition. And her competition couldn't help smirk to herself. Cameron wore only enough make-up to look natural, whereas she wore black eyeliner, shade and nail polish. Cameron wore polished and probably expensive pumps, whereas she wore Converse hi-tops - red, of course. She saw a shadow flitter across Cameron's perfect face, and her smirk returned. Yeah, these three were going to be a lot of fun.

House stopped a few feet away, planted his cane for a leaning post, and cocked his head to level a gaze directly at her.

"If you came to audition for the stripper gig, I suggest you see Volger's assistant to schedule an appointment," he bit out, his shoulders squared in what amounted to his fighting stance. "I hear Volger likes to interview strippers personally."

"Funny, cause he said the same of you," she said, swiveling around to directly face him, again crossing and uncrossing her legs. She left her earbuds in and kept to the beat.

"Well, then he must have told you I usually like my strippers blonde and wearing police uniforms," House shot back, not missing a beat or moving even a fraction of a millimeter.

She was duly impressed and in respect removed her earbuds. "All in due time. I was hoping we could do some work first."

She jumped down from the desk, pocketed the I-Pod, but remained leaning against the desk. "Work hard, play hard. But, in your case, I can go easy on you."

She was purring. It was fun. Cameron's face got darker, Foreman shifted his weight. Easy, fellas, don't go jumping to conclusions - actually, do jump, that'll make this all the more interesting. But House just kept starring back at her, not moving, eyes fixed in a glare like they'd been carved that way. Truly remarkable. How far can I push you, porcupine?

She held out her hand, not attempting to bridge the chasm between them. "Erica. Or Dr. Stevens if you prefer."

House's brow furrowed. He limped around her and sat down behind his desk, pondering the meaning of what she just said as if it meant understanding the meaning of life. "Stevens. Erica. Doctor. Is that supposed to mean something to me?" he asked, interlacing his long fingers.

Stevens let her hand drop and looked over her shoulder at him. "It will from now on. Volger appointed me to your department."

Foreman would've leapt forward if he wasn't a civilized man. "What are you talking about? He just gave us all the run around, getting one of us gone in the process."

"Right, and that was phase one of his 'make House suffer' fun," Stevens replied, glancing between Foreman and Cameron before returning her gaze to House. "You didn't think he'd actually stop there, not when you supply him with such fun and folly."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, that's what he said he would do," Cameron stepped in.

"You must be Dr. Cameron," Stevens replied. She stepped forward, offered her hand to the competition. Cameron refused to relinquish her grip on the chart. "I've heard about you. All of you actually. Brilliant minds, geniuses, rebels with a cause." Stevens leveled the last comment at House directly, who had yet to blink at her. "You solve the unsolvable. Veritable Sherlocks in this hospital. I'm very honored to be able to work with you."

"But I don't get it," Foreman said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Why would Volger send you when we're supposed to be cash strapped?"

"Hey, you got me."

"But you said - "

Stevens flashed Cameron a genuine smile and shrugged. "Oh, that. That's just what I heard through the grapevine. Dr. House's tussle with the homegrown capitalist has been the talk all over. Word is he likes playing with you guys, like you're his ant farm or something."

"So you're just naturally a bitch then?" And that from Cameron.

Stevens touched her nose and winked. Foreman snorted, contemptuously and humorously. Stevens smiled at him in reply, but he just shook his head and sat down at their conference table.

"I still don't get it."

Cameron sat down next to Foreman, finally releasing the chart to the table. "What does Volger hope to accomplish by sending someone of your ilk to work with us?"

"This."

They all turned back to House. Stevens smile grew larger to find a twinkle in the glare still leveled at her. Yes, he understands. He knows how to play.

House set his cane on the desktop, leaned back, his hands cupping the back of his head.

"Just like he used Chase, to stir things up. Only this time, instead of a bastard, he sent a bitch."

Stevens lightly rested a hand over her chest. "I'm beginning to think I'm not wanted here."

"Not wanted…perhaps. Unfortunately, I set up this department to run with three doctors beneath me. To reduce the amount of work I'd actually have to do - like actually being around patients with their germs and sicknesses." He added a good shudder for emphasis. "That means, with Volger setting the tunes he wants me to dance to, I need to have that third mind come in your vulgar body."

"Ah, you're warming up to me already."

Cameron muttered something under her breath, which Foreman smiled to.

"So, as long as we are forced to put up with your company, can you at least tell me in what way you won't be a drag on us?"

His face was really cute when his eyes twinkled that way. Like a boy, plotting out mischief against an older sibling or a neighbor's bully of a dog.

"Well, I have studied endocrinology, gynecology, immunology, neurology, cardiology, oncology, psychology, pediatrics, geriatrics, psychiatry, this, that and the other ology."

"Had a hard time picking just one?" asked Foreman.

"I never was one for settling down with any one," she flashed back. She sat back down on House's desk. "I specialize in medicine, although I also like genetics, chemistry, quantum physics, geology, paleontology, archaeology, astronomy and anthropology. Oh, and astrology." She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm an Aquarius, just so you know."

He picked up his cane and stabbed her in the rear. "Don't care."

She slid off, shrugging. "I'm just your all around science geek."

Cameron wasn't impressed. "She who knows too much knows too little."

"It's one thing to focus on one particular tree," Erica replied. "I like to see the forest, the trees, and all the little, furry animals that call it home." She pulled a chair away from the table and straddled it. "That's how you understand medicine."

Cameron leaned forward, in fighting position. "But how can you possibly know everything without some of the information getting lost and distorting your diagnosis?"

Stevens hooked a thumb back at House, who was once again leaning back, observant.

"Ask the boss man there. I wanted this job to learn from him, see how he does it. Perhaps, even one day," she looked back to House, "surpass him."

The snort again from Foreman. Cameron straightened up, shot her gaze over at House. But House was fixed on Stevens, and she steadfastly returned the look. The twinkle grew brighter, lit by a flame that curled his lips with its heat. Yes, House, that's right. It's time to play. And you're gonna teach me how to be the best. Damn Volger and his ulterior motives. I want you, to teach me, and I'll make damn sure you want to.

Perhaps he knew what she was thinking by staring into her eyes. She heard he could do that. People spoke in whispers about it. But his twinkle got brighter.

"Well, Dr. Stevens, if you are going to be a bitch, then you will be my bitch," he said, as nonchalantly as most people order Chinese food. "If I hear you're actually Volger's bitch, then I'll have you spayed. Is that understood?"

"Loud and clear, Dr. House."

He got up and assumed his position at the white board.

"Good, now turn that damn chair and sit up like a proper lady. Use Dr. Cameron as your role model, she'll play the part beautifully. In fact, I want you to stick to Cameron's backside until I say otherwise, is that understood?"

Stevens and Cameron both opened their mouths, but the sudden ice in House's eyes made them snap shut. Stevens turned around her chair and sat down straight and proper, legs nicely crossed and everything. And she could tell by the prickling on her neck that Cameron was fixing an icy glare at her back. If House noticed, he kept quiet.

"Now, let's get down to business."

Yes, these three were definitely going to be fun.

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Out of the woods

Thanks for the wonderful reviews, everyone! Here's where the meat of the story really begins. And no, I don't know anything about the future of the show. I'm leaving Chase out only because he annoys me with his two-facedness. So I figured I'd create a character who's annoying, but who I can control. Hehehehe!

Chapter 1 - Out of the Woods

Immanuel and Elijah crept through the woods, low to the ground, their bare feet absorbing the sound of their footfalls. Immanuel was 13, and Elijah was 9. Neither boy wore a shirt in the heat of the summer, and the sweat glistened on their browned backs, stuck their thick black hair to their heads. If the heat or the sweat or the branches scrapping their flesh bothered them, there was no way of knowing. Were this not the 21st century, the boys could easily have passed for Native Americans, prowling the woods of New Jersey, in search of food or sport.

As each carried a rifle at their side, the illusion was even stronger.

Elijah stayed behind his bigger brother, moving just as silently, as if he'd been doing it for a long time. Actually, he noticed that his brother wasn't as quiet or careful as normally. Immanuel's toes caught on a root and he barely caught himself with a low branch. The sudden noise shocked the still woods, as several birds took flight in annoyed screeches. Elijah swiftly brought up his rifle but they were too far away and were probably not even worth shooting at.

Elijah reached out to help his brother stand, but Immanuel violently ripped away from his brother's arm, cursing under his breath. But Elijah could see his hands. They were shaking. Elijah could hear the rifle's barrel rattling under the force of the tremor seizing his brother. Now, being so up close, he could see it, the trembling of his brother's entire body. And his eyes. Elijah could only bare a sideways glance at them.

His eyes wouldn't stand still.

And what made it all worse, was that this wasn't the first time.

Immanuel pushed away and went to a tree, leaning on it with his free hand, back facing Elijah. Elijah knew better than to approach. So he waited until the tremor passed and Immanuel's body stilled, his shoulders sagged, and he motioned them forward.

Again, with the forest expectant, they silently slid through it. Elijah watched the taunt movements of his brother, and felt very cold despite the sun beating down on them.

Suddenly Immanuel dropped to a crouch. Elijah immediately followed, peering into the woods, looking for whatever it was that caught the other's eyes. Immanuel pointed to their side, but snapped his hand back. The tremor had returned. Elijah did not notice, because he was focused on peering into the green woods, into a spot where no light managed to pass through the lush canopy.

"Immanuel, I don't-"

"It's there," Immanuel hissed through clenched teeth. "A big one, with twelve points. Now's your chance."

Elijah brought his rifle up, clicked off the safety and peered down the sight, still not seeing anything in the woods.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, forget it," he hissed again, bringing up his own rifle. The end of the barrel bounced around, refusing to play nice for the boy, as if it was suddenly objecting to killing. Immanuel growled, swearing louder.

Elijah cringed. This wasn't his brother. Timidly, he inched away from his brother.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Ssshut uppp," Immanuel replied, setting down his gun. "No ssshoot, bbbefore it gggetsss awaaay!"

Elijah sighted again. Still nothing.

"But I don't see anything."

"Idiot, give me that!"

Immanuel lunged for the rifle, grabbing the barrel in his shaking hand. Elijah refused to let go.

"No, Immanuel, there's nothing there!"

They struggled, Elijah amazed he was able to hold on as long as he could. But Immanuel was shaking worse, his eyes darting, unable to rest.

"I said give me your gun!"

With a sudden jerk, Immanuel wrestled the rifle towards himself, wrenching it from Elijah's grip.

But Elijah's finger was still crooked on the trigger.

And the rifle's shot shattered the still of the woods.

With the barrel pointed directly at Immanuel's leg.

Each boy stared at the other as the sound and smoke dissipated into the woods. For a split second, Immanuel's body went rigid, freed from the trembling. Then the blood started to flow, covering Immanuel's hands as they investigated the hole in his leg.

Elijah watched from where he fell, his face frozen beyond shock and fear.

Immanuel looked down at his younger brother, and started to laugh. Deep, uncontrollable, wild laughter flowed from him as quickly as the blood. The trembling returned, stronger, jerked him to the ground as his legs gave way.

And he kept laughing.

XXX

The glaring summer sun was setting, swathing the sky in severe yellows and oranges. The helicopter buzzed angrily, insisting on immediate clearance as it circled once around the heliport on top of the Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital, nestled in a finer area of the garden state. It circled once more, watching the ER and trauma doctors scurry out with their gurney and wait out of reach as it settled down, scattering errant leaves and debris off the pad like an angry broom. Just as it bounced to settle firmly, the doctors rushed forward, bent nearly in half to avoid the angry blades.

The cargo inside could not be kept waiting any longer.

The paramedics skillfully launched Immanuel, tied down to a portable backboard with IV and red-stained bandages decorating his still sweaty, trembling body, unto the rolling gurney. He was immediately wheeled away, doctors, surgeons and nurses busily shouting orders at each other to try to be heard over the buzz of the blades. Only one nurse remained as a paramedic handed over Elijah, eyes wide, lips trembling, whole body shivering as the sweat met the sudden downdraft of the blades.

The nurse wrapped him in a blanket and led him inside. Elijah said nothing. If he blinked, it was lost in the chaos as the sun and the helicopter departed.

XXX

"You made me miss _American Rejects_," House grumbled, popping a Vicodon as he limped down the hallway. Dr. James Wilson, the bravest soul in the hospital (or so his wife called him), traipsed along besides the gaunt doctor, hands in pockets, smile on face, amiable to any gruffness his friend could dish out. It was all a show. A very good show - even fooled Wilson at times.

"You mean _American Idol_," Wilson corrected.

"Yeah, whatever."

"That doesn't run in the summer."

"Fine, Mr. Nielson, you made me miss valuable beer guzzling and whoring time!" House shot back, with absolutely no twinkle in either his gait or his eyes, which were now shooting daggers at his friend's profile. Okay, so the show was definitely without a laugh track today.

"I didn't make you miss anything! You agreed to sit in on the budget meeting because you wanted Volger to see you do it!"

"Puffed up nancy boy thinks he's so big just because he's got money…" House's grumble trailed off as they rounded a corner in time to be met by the ER procession.

The doctors worked furiously over Immanuel's leg, opting to go straight to the OR, and were completely oblivious of anyone else in the hall. Wilson quickly caught House's arm and pulled him against the wall as the tempest of medicine rolled past them. House didn't even notice his friend's imposition. His eyes were fixed on the unconscious shivering boy tied down to the gurney. He could swear he saw a smile underneath the air mask.

Then the nurse arrived, following slowly, keeping Elijah at a distance from the commotion over his brother. Elijah looked straight ahead, but it was doubtful he was seeing anything of his brother. Or any of his surroundings.

House knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror, after…

"A GSW to the leg," Wilson sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I sure hope they aren't brothers."

House pulled himself from his thoughts, and back to his grumbling. He wanted to be in a bad mood, not a suicidal one.

"Boys shouldn't play with guns. Give them slingshots if they want to torture things."

House continued his amble down the hallway, and Wilson picked up besides him.

"Or a medical degree," Wilson observed.

"Where do you think it all starts?"

"Well, I know it doesn't all start with you just off-handedly wanting to rattle Volger."

"Fah," House snorted contemptuously, smugly, "there's nothing off-handed about my torturing tactics. More like, even-handed. I'm an equal opportunity torturer."

"No argument here. This wouldn't have to do with a certain sexy new addition to your department?"

House glanced at his friend, but let go the comment that sprang to mind when he caught the look on Wilson's face. Wilson's taste for women - many and varied - was no secret, no surprise, and was becoming no fun to tease him on. Well, at least not today.

"You mean the new fly in the old ointment? The self-proclaimed bitch-"

"She told me you and Dr. Cameron called her that-"

"-who thinks she's a know-it-all upstart in search of a mentor slash father figure?"

"You've got her all figured out then, and you know Volger, so why rattle him now? After that incident with Chase, you've been doing all you can to avoid him."

House stopped, leaned thoughtfully on his cane. Wilson turned to face him.

"Does this have something to do with you and Al-"

House's thoughtfulness quickly reverted to icy glares, and Wilson quickly shut his mouth.

House resumed his staggering gait, leaving Wilson in the dust.

"Because she's a mystery. And I love a good mystery."

Wilson watched his friend step into an elevator. House turned back just in time for the doors to slid shut, but Wilson caught that brief instant. That chink in House's armor. The one with long dark hair, glasses, and a stubbornness he'd only ever seen in one other person - the main in the suit of armor himself.

Wilson didn't know everything that happened with Dr. Cameron during the Volger headhunting incident, the one that resulted in Chase's departure. And having Stacy return, just then - well, it was as bad as anything he'd seen on that soap House insisted on watching. And now add on a new character...

Wilson ran his fingers through his hair again, shaking loose strands that had decided to relocate to his fingers. It was stress. Either from the job, or from handling House.

Hell, handling House was his job.


	3. Laughter isn't always the best medicine

Chapter 2: Laughter isn't always the best medicine

House looked up from the chart at the teenage girl, swathed in the latest nauseating fashion, sitting on the examining table. Her mother, attired almost identically as her much younger child, stood possessively nearby, absolutely glaring at House. And he didn't even do anything yet. Except make them wait. Well, that wasn't his fault, but it sure was fun.

"You fainted during gym, Cammie?" he asked, wincing at the girl's name. It was short for Camilla-Lee. Yeesh. Parents and their stabs at originality.

"Yes, they pulled me out of class immediately, so I brought her here - three hours ago," the mother said, nearly growling. Maybe she had a deviated septum, House thought ruefully.

"You work at the school?"

"I'm the 12th grade English teacher."

"How nice for you." House looked back at the chart. "Do you eat enough, Cammie?"

"Of course she does! Just because she's thin doesn't mean she doesn't eat!" the mother shrilled. House winced again, glanced around furtively for earplugs, or a muzzle. "She's a cheerleader! She works out. Cammie, show him your muscles."

Cammie slowly lifted the bottom of her shirt. House leaned in, all doctor-like, then tsked.

"Madam, that's not a six-pack. That's her digestive track," he observed thoughtfully. "See, if I press in here, it's all squishy-like." He did for good measure. Cammie winced, and her mother nearly screamed.

She did deftly swing around and push his hand away. "Cammie is not anorexic, if that's what you're thinking! She eats everything on her plate."

House eyed the sticks both mother and daughter called arms. "Then perhaps you should start feeding her more."

"This is absurd. She fainted. I demand to have a CT-scan, or whatever that damn test is you doctors use to study the brain!"

"Honestly, while I don't mind taking your money, it would be better spent buying Cammie here some Twinkies and Ding-Dongs."

The mother stepped up to him, and he sought his cane for support, and as a possible weapon.

"Listen, Doctor, I'm the patient, I have insurance, and I want that damn test!"

House sighed and opened the door.

"Fine, let's go outside to fill out the paperwork. After you."

Head held triumphant, the mother stalked out.

And House slammed the door behind her, immediately locking it.

He grabbed a tongue depressor and returned to Cammie, ignoring the pounding and screaming her mother was doing on the other side.

"Now, Cammie dear, please stick out your tongue for old Doc House, hmm."

Cammie, eyes on her mother, but a slight smile on her face, obliged.

And there it was, clear as day. Well, more dark as night, but still very classic.

"Cammie, do you eat everything your parents give you?"

Cammie nodded. House threw away the depressor.

"And do you let it stay with you?"

Cammie stared at him, at his suddenly quiet face, and slowly shook her head.

"Now, Cammie, what you are doing to your body is very bad. You're causing your esophagus, that's where the food goes down and, in your case, comes up, to be worn away by your stomach's acid. Not to mention you are too thin because your parents apparently don't feel like feeding you that much to begin with."

"My mom diets a lot, so we have to, too."

"Fashion consciousness is one of the worst diseases we modern doctors see everyday." House pulled out his prescription pad. "I'm going to give you two prescriptions."

He handed her the first one, with just a name written on that one. "That's a therapist I know. She can't take a joke, but damn she's smart, and easy to talk to. I want you to give that one to your mother."

He then handed her twenty dollars.

"And I want you to keep that, go to the nearest 7-11, and buy junk food." He went to the door. "But don't eat it all at once. You can get a stomach-ache."

"What if Mom - "

House twirled his cane. "I'll feed her something very high in fiber. Camilla, this is serious. If you keep this up, fainting will be the least of your problems."

He opened the door. Arms folded, the anger radiated off the mother. He walked past her and up to the nurse.

"I need a CT scan in exam room 1, plus any blood tests that are really expensive."

He hobbled away, throwing back to the nurse. "Oh, what the hell, do a full body scan while you're at it. She has insurance," he added, gleefully cackling as he retreats down the hall.

He was midway through his evil villain mwuah-haha when he ran into Cameron, radiating her own anger. House gulped and immediately fixed a huge grin on his face.

"I just prescribed Twinkies to a bulimic. Am I sadist or what?"

Cameron crossed her arms and glowered. House refused to let her bad mood interrupt his euphoria over dealing with that obnoxious, anal-retentive mother.

"Some people might also say I'm a masochist, but actually I think I'm just a hedonist."

Still no response.

_Oookay…_"Say, aren't you missing your little lap dog, what's-her-name."

"I told her you wanted her to accompany Foreman on his rounds."

"You lied, how sexy. Or should I be worried…"

"Damnit, Greg," she threw up her hands, pressed her back to the wall. House looked sideways at her, slowly reshifting his stance to face her.

"Why did you stick her with me?"

"Because I'm hoping you two will get in a catfight, preferably somewhere where the hospital's security cameras can capture it." He paused, contemplating. "Preferably involving a big vat of lime jell-o."

Cameron looked down, her bangs shaded her eyes from House.

"Do you think she's - "

House sighed, and fought hard to not reach out and sweep those bangs away.

"She's a challenge from Volger, that's all."

Cameron looked up, but not even House could diagnosis what was going on in her eyes.

"And you like a good challenge."

"Why does everyone think that? Have I ever said I like challenges? I like things nice and easy, like any other red-white-blue-blooded American."

That got a smile. House relaxed, without showing it of course.

Cameron patted the hand that clutched the cane. It tingled, in the good way.

"Just be careful, House. You know how Volger liked to use women to get to you."

Cameron slid off the wall and down the hall. House, left by himself, did allow himself a sincere smile. Cameron was becoming very fun to play with.

"See, women are a challenge and I don't like women!" he shouted after her, getting a look from an elderly couple as they passed him. He couldn't resist bowing to them. "Yes, that's right, I'm gay. What do you think I have this cane for?"

The elderly couple moved faster, which was not that easy for them. House smiled more and hobbled off, whistling to himself.

_Twinkies for a bulimic. I crack myself up._

_XXX_

"The boy was brought in two days ago with a gunshot wound to the leg," Foreman read off the chart as he and Stevens walked down the hall of the critical care unit. "He and his brother were out in the woods, hunting."

"Hunting? Is it duck season or rabbit season?"

Foreman grinned. "Neither, it was very illegal, but since they didn't actually shoot anything - "

"Except each other," Stevens added, popping in a stick of nicotine gum. She offered Foreman one.

"I don't smoke."

Stevens shrugged. "Neither do I."

Foreman raised a brow, continued reading. "Because they didn't shoot anything, no charges have been filed. Wow, the bullet hit the femoral artery."

"From deep in the woods? How's he still alive?"

"A farmer heard the shots, got a tourniquet on, just in the nick of time."

"Okay, but if he's a GSW," she paused to pop her gum, "why were you called in for a consult?"

Checking the chart, he answered, "He's suffering from tremors, eyes, hands, dysarthria, and ataxia."

Stevens whistled. "Excessive blood loss resulting in oxygen starvation to the medulla?"

Foreman closed the chart, shoved it under his arm. "Guess that's why we're here. And House said you should accompany me today?"

"No, Cameron wants me to think that. Suits me just fine. Eric and Erica, on the case. Has a nice ring to it. Like some sappy ABC show."

Foreman couldn't hide the grin fast enough. "So, you haven't seen House today at all?"

"Not yet. Why?"

They arrive at the room. Foreman's eyes dart up to Steven's hair, but only for a moment.

"Oh, no reason."

Foreman followed her in, taking his eyes off her hair to see Immanuel propped up in bed by pillows and shivering, his eyes darting around so much Foreman wondered where the fly was the poor boy was watching. His younger brother, Elijah, was curled into a chair in the far corner, looking out the window. Foreman saw in the chart Elijah was okay, although a psychologist noted he hadn't spoken much since arriving.

"Arre yyou ttwwo ssuppossed to bbe ddocctterss," Immanuel hissed, teeth knocking. As best as he could, the boy was staring at Stevens.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Foreman, and this is Dr. Stevens."

"She's not a doctor. Doctors don't have pink hair," Immanuel continued, eyes narrowed, rigid, as the spasm halted. "Only freaks have pink hair."

He started to laugh, screeching actually, until the spasms started again and he returned to watching the invisible fly. Foreman and Stevens exchanged glances and went to the separate brothers.

"Okay, Immanuel, I'm just going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability, okay?"

Foreman couldn't tell if Immanuel nodded his head in agreement, or if it was just the effect of whatever disease or condition had him in its grip. Either way, he began going down the questions and tasks to check for impaired mental abilities. Stevens meanwhile softly approached the nearly catatonic Elijah. Smiling broadly, she squatted down to be eyelevel.

"Hi, my name's Erica, what's yours?"

Elijah glanced at her, until her hair caught his eyes. She smiled more. And Foreman wondered why she did it. Catches people's attention.

"Elijah," said a little voice from the little boy.

"Hi, Elijah, how are you doing?"

Elijah glanced past her to Immanuel, who was scowling at Foreman. Elijah shivered, stuffed his hands out of sight.

"Is my brother going to die?"

Stevens looked over at Foreman, whose furrowed brow didn't give her a warm fuzzy feeling.

Elijah shivered again and squeezed himself tighter. "It's my fault."

"I'm sure you didn't mean to shoot him."

"Not that." Elijah returned to looking out the window.

Stevens own brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Elijah?"

But Elijah was silent. "Elijah, I'm sure your brother isn't mad at you."

"He's always mad now."

"I'm sure once he gets better, he'll be back to normal, be the fun brother he was before."

Elijah looked up at her, and for a moment his eyes wouldn't stay still.

She blinked, and it was gone. Was it even there? Might've been the lighting. She filed it away, as the little boy stared at her without even seeing her.

"Immanuel, can you hear me?"

Stevens jerked up. Immanuel's spasms had grabbed him and were violently shaking his little body, playing him like an accordion, as the laughter bubbled up and then shot out in a torrent of untamed fury. His face was all screwed up, ticking and trying to open a mouth far wider than it should be as that laugh poured out.

"That's not him! That's not him!"

Elijah screamed and ran out of the room, barreling past Stevens, his little hands furtively trying to shut off the sound of his brother caught in this - thing's - throes. Stevens wanted to run after him, but Foreman was shouting at her to grab the syringe filled with sedative as he did his best to restrain the boy, who, despite Foreman's obvious physical advantage, was clearly getting the better of the doctor. Stevens quickly injected the boy and Foreman continued his restraint until the laughter and spasm died to a whimper.

"What happened?" Stevens gasped.

"I don't know. I was just asking questions when all of a sudden he snapped, slapped the questions away, and started - laughing."

They both looked down at the boy, who even at rest shivered involuntarily.

"Did you learn anything from his brother?"

"No, but I get a feeling this didn't start with the gun shot."

Again, up went his eyebrow. Stevens decided she'd start counting how many times he does that. "Just a hunch, nothing really."

"You seemed to be able to get him to talk pretty good. I even saw you smile sincerely."

Stevens turned fully on Foreman, brandishing the syringe she still held. "And if you tell anyone, so help me-"

"Excuse me, what's going on?"

They turn to see a man and a woman standing in the door way. The man wore a rumpled suit while the wife, dark of skin and hair, wore a simple dress of exotic colors and design. By the way Elijah was clinging to the woman's legs, they were clearly related.

"You must be - "

Stevens was stopped when Foreman grabbed her arm, removing the syringe she was now brandishing towards the parents.

"Go tell House what happened. We need everyone on this," Foreman quietly instructed, passing her his notes. Stevens eyes lit up, forgetting there were even two concerned people staring at them.

"Nice to meet you," she quickly offered to them as she left. Left alone with the parents, Foreman slipped into official mode.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I'm Dr. Eric Foreman, I'm a neurologist asked to consult on your son's case."

"Our son was shot," Mr. Anderson asserted, meeting the doctor squarely. "Does he have nerve damage in his leg or something?"

"Sir, there's a possibility the spasms troubling your son are due to brain damage, suffered around the time of the accident."

Mr. Anderson said something to his wife in a language Foreman didn't catch. Mrs. Anderson, face like a mask, turned Elijah around and they left the room.

"We were told that was because of the blood loss, that it would clear up."

"Were it simply due to blood loss from the wound, it would have cleared up by now with the plasma infusions he's been given."

Mr. Anderson looked down at his boy, his square jaw clenched and hard.

"So what is it then?"

"I don't know, we will need to run some tests," Foreman responded. "Sir, I have to ask you some questions, about your son's mental state before the accident."

The man's attention ricocheted back to the doctor. "My son is not crazy."

"I didn't say that. I do need to know if you noticed any personality changes, mood swings, or problems moving and speaking before he was - shot."

A blacksmith could've used Anderson's chin for an anvil. "My son was perfectly fine before. And as soon as we can, we're taking him home."

Anderson stalked out to find his wife. Foreman sighed, scratched his head. That man is gonna love House. And vice versa. He retrieved the chart from the ground and started ordering tests. But he had no idea if what he was ordering were going to help.

That laugh. He shivered. What could explain that?


	4. If you're so smart

_Thanks for your patience everyone. I had to do some scrambling to figure things out, now that Volger has been banished. Hopefully this will still make some coherent, alternate universe sense…And thanks for all the reviews. It keeps me feeling all warm and fuzzy!_

Chapter 3: If you're so smart…

This was the time of the day when House rested, when he didn't want to be disturbed. Well, okay, that was basically every moment of the day. But it was this hour in particular that he set aside to concentrate on honing his doctoring skills.

Wilson forked another section of salad, waved it at the television screen.

"Oh, come on, that's completely unrealistic." He crunched down on the salad but continued. "If I were to do that with a medical student they'd have my license."

"It _is_ a soap opera, James," House chided. "Besides, you'd never do it in such a public place, so you'd never get caught."

Wilson nodded, seeing no real reason to go down that line of arguing again. He forked another bite as they continued to watch the latest exploits of the hospital. The episode held their undivided attention until their own melodramatic doctor rushed into House's office, brimming with the type of enthusiasm House avoided like the plague.

"We've got one, boss!"

House placed a finger to his lips, eyes never veering from the screen.

"No, TV time's over," she continued, unabated. "We have to rally the troops and march forward into the undiscovered country. Once more unto the breach!"

"Stop paraphrasing Shakespeare, it's not impressing anyone." House only answered because a commercial came on. He still didn't look at her.

Wilson shrugged. "I found it impressive."

"You think a woman who can spell is worth doing," House shot back.

And that was it for Wilson. "Okay, TV time _is_ over." He left, half-smiling at Stevens as he walked out. Taking that as encouragement, Stevens strode up to House.

"Commercial's over, you go now."

But she wasn't to be dissuaded. This was her first case with the diagnostic department, and the old man's obsession with that melodramatic fluff wasn't going to stop her. So she risked her life and wellbeing and turned off the TV.

"Now listen, a boy was brought in with a GSW a couple days ago, but now he's displaying signs of advanced brain disorder, so I think we should--"

House essentially jumped up, with the support of his cane, and walked out. He had said nothing. He has merely looked at her, not even with any apparent malfeasance. He just turned his back on her and limped out.

Unbelieving of what just happened, Stevens momentarily lost her edge and followed after him like a lost puppy.

"Wait, don't go, we have to discuss the case."

"If you're so smart, Shakespeare, you do it yourself."

"But you're the head of the department."

She had caught up to him at the door, which he had already opened.

"You want my job, you do it."

And he left. "Damn old fool," she hissed to herself. "And how the hell am I supposed to get Cameron to listen to me!"

"Take her on a date, worked for me. Nice try with the hair, but I think chartreuse is more your color." Then he was around the corner and no longer in the picture, literally and figuratively.

XXX

With Wilson's help, it only took an hour to get Cameron to agree to sit in the room as Stevens led the diagnosis session. She agreed to sit there, but she didn't agree to suggest any diagnoses. And she was really planning to uphold that part of the arrangement.

As Stevens busily wrote the symptoms on the board in an exaggeration of perfect penmanship, Foreman leaned over to Wilson.

"So why isn't House leading this?"

"Apparently your new friend turned off _General Hospital_ on him."

Both of Foreman's eyebrows shot up. "And she's still alive?'

"House must be getting soft in his old age."

"Or he likes her."

Cameron shot them both a look, but all three turn silent as Stevens was finally done writing up the symptoms.

Stevens smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Thanks for coming, everyone, we've got a real interesting case today."

"I think you used too much bleach cleaning this morning, Dr. Stevens," Cameron observed dryly.

"Ha-ha, yes I know, doctors don't have pink hair, can we please focus now?"

"Well, it is a little distracting."

Glowering, Stevens whipped out a bandana and tied it around her head.

"Better?"

Cameron smiled. "Totally."

"Okay, then let's get down to business. A young male is brought in with a GSW to the leg a couple days ago. He was given the regular rigmarole of tests and treatment for the GSW, only now he is exhibiting symptoms of neurological disorder. And it's not hypoxia. The patient had a tourniquet and the ER staff was able to quickly restore blood supply to the brain to prevent oxygen starvation. Also no sign of cerebral hemorrhaging, they checked with a CT when he was brought in."

"How advanced are the symptoms?" Wilson asked.

Foreman crossed his arms over his chest. "He is suffering from tremors over his entire body, which are impacting his muscle coordination and his speech. And that's just all the time."

"He also has bouts of ataxia where he jerks around with strength he obviously isn't voluntarily exhibiting. And there is the emotional instability."

"Emotional instability?" from Wilson again. Cameron, who had before only been feigning listening, inched slightly forward with this symptom.

"While I couldn't get much from his younger brother, it appears that the patient underwent a mood change before the accident occurred," Stevens replied, Cameron's move not escaping her. "And there is the laughter."

"The patient has some form of dementia that results in spasmodic fits of laughter," Foreman explained. "I've never heard anything like it."

"It's very creepy."

"Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Stevens?" This from Cameron.

Stevens shrugged. "Yes, because it is."

Wilson was quick to jump in, although the idea of two very beautiful women…

"Okay, so we have dementia, ataxia, mood change, tremors…Naturally, I'd say a brain tumor."

"I'd agree, that seems to be our number one culprit. But so we can cover our bases, Dr. Cameron, any bugs that can do this?" Stevens pointedly asked.

"Probably, but why not just check out the tumor first and not waste our time?"

"There's the possibility of herpes simplex resulting in encephalitis," Foreman offered. "If that's the case, we should check right away before it progresses."

"Yeah, but you need a lumbar puncture for a full diagnosis, and if the patient is as spasmodic as you say the complications could be too severe," Cameron pointed out.

"But a CT scan could give us an initial idea, and it could test for a stroke or some related embolism that may have been caused by the GSW," Foreman replied.

"Good, but that all focuses on the brain still," Stevens interjected. "What about other non-brained related ailments?"

"Because if it's neurological, then it should be the, um, brain?" Cameron asked. If House wouldn't be there physically, she was going to channel his spirit.

"I mean, Dr. Cameron, what else could have caused damage to the brain besides the obvious tumor, stroke or bad blow?"

"A lot of things?"

"What about mushroom poisoning?"

The other three looked at each other and then back at pink-haired doctor.

"Did the patient fall down the rabbit hole? I didn't see that on the chart." Again, Cameron as House, and relishing it.

"Some mushroom species contain poisons that could have this impact we are seeing," Stevens responded, her eyes lighting up in considering of her own brilliantness. "Plus we know the children we out hunting during off season, so perhaps the family eats a lot from what they can find around them."

"You'd have to eat a lot of mushrooms recently…" Foreman relayed.

"Plus, you are basing that diagnosis on pure supposition! Have you asked the family if they live of the land? Are the Amish or something?"

Stevens was not to be so easily deflated, being so obviously enamored of her idea. "No, but the mother is from an indigenous peoples from New Guinea, which means they might be following some tradition."

"Again, purely suppositional. Why not just add demonic possession to the list?" Cameron's own eyes were lit now.

"If you'd like to make the call to the local diocese and tell them Satan's made a house call to an 11 year old boy, be my guest," Stevens replied. "Mushroom poisoning makes far more logical and medical sense."

Wilson got up, interjecting his quiet calm into the growing fray.

"I think for now we should stick with the most likely causes for now and keep in mind any alternatives should they be needed. Do an MRI for the tumor, check again for any hemorrhaging. Also order a CT scan and blood work for herpes simplex and embolisms. Then we go from there." Wilson looked at each in turn. "Okay?"

Cameron and Stevens nodded, took one last look at each other, then exited through different doors. Foreman sat back with a sigh.

"Well, that was a normal meeting."

Wilson sat back down. "Two mini-Houses instead of one. Great, it's infectious."

XXX

House had just picked up a chart from the nurses' station for his fun clinic time when a door opened behind him and the voice that issued from it sent him rigid, and not in the good way.

"Gregory, my office, now," was all Cuddy said before closing the door.

House glanced up at the nurse and handed the chart back. "Sorry, boss wants a quickie, gotta obey the master."

He found Dr. Lisa Cuddy sitting on her desk, arms crossed. He noticed that she chose to wear a mock turtleneck, with the suit jacket slung over her chair's back. All those comments about her low cut shirts must've finally gotten to her. He smiled, and just couldn't help himself.

"If the objective by wearing that shirt was to stop my comments on your upper chest region, I suggest you unfold your arms as they have a way of pronouncing that region," he said, pointing with his cane for good measure.

Half-snorting, half-sighing, Cuddy retrieved her jacket and slung it back on.

"How do you manage to get anything done by being such a complete chauvinist?"

"I'm not a complete chauvinist," he feigned slander. "It's just that, well, gosh darn it, you make it so easy!"

Cuddy, again rolling her eyes, picked up the chart for Immanuel. "This case you have now, the GSW who laughs a lot."

"Not my case, Stevens' case," he quickly corrected.

"It's in your department now, it's your case, you're responsible," she just as quickly replied. "The boy's parents are petitioning to have him discharged due to religious reasons. Is there any reason we should keep him here?"

"Don't know, ask Stevens."

"Greg, I've heard you don't like Stevens, Cameron told me--"

"Actually, I think I might actually be falling in love with her, but the fear of rejection is so painful that I'm subjugating the thought while simultaneously displaying this fear/attraction as hostility towards the source of the emotional quandary," House replied matter-of-factly. "Or so my astrologist told me today."

"She came highly recommended."

"I know, from monsignor Volger."

Cuddy sets down the chart, again folds her arms. "That's right, you know everything. So why don't you go find out what's happening with your team. If they can't give me a reason to keep the boy here within an hour, I'm having him discharged."

And again House's eyes were drawn to Cuddy 's chest. "Form fitting jacket, right? Very flattering lines."

She didn't unfold her arms. "Get going House. If your team does anything, you're responsible for it."

House started toddling off, but his eyes remained fixed.

"And black in the summer, what a bold fashion sense you have! Tell me, is goth chic in this year?"

He was out the door before he heard her veiled threats. The nurse looked up at him, offering the chart, but he ignored her and continued along. In his own world, mulling and stewing about the "Stevens" issue, he only saw enough to direct him back to his office. Everyone had already gone, but the symptoms were still on the board.

He pulled up a chair and regarded them, but his mind was focused. Stevens brought this to him, but Stevens was from Volger, was a hot shot, and had introduced herself as someone who likes to play and is interested in his job. So, she's a bitch with a lot of ambition, that was an easy diagnosis. So why did this case interest her? Obviously because she wants a simple case to prove she is better, something she can easily solve that will show to Vogler and Cuddy and anyone else that House isn't the only brilliant doctor available and thus isn't a needed -

Laughter? Is that a joke?

He leaned in closer, focused on the symptoms to finally read them, and then sighed.

"Damnit, she just might have something here."


End file.
